I am a Mean Mommy.
Ask my kids. They'll tell you. Even Joanna, who, at two years old, doesn't really know what "mean" is, even Jojo can hear and repeat what the big kids say. "Poo, poo Mommmy", which in toddler-speak, means, "Mommy, you stink."
"Mommy, you are mean."
I'm sort of over it, most of the time. I didn't have kids to win popularity contests (although I will admit to the addicting and incomparable feeling of pure adoration from a baby's eyes. and how when that fades, it's heartbreaking). I know my kids love me. Lately, though, they don't always like me.
Today, for instance. In the 4,784th Clash of the Clean, I told the kids to tidy up, because the cleaners would be coming in the morning (my guilt on hiring a cleaning service, please see future blog entry, "How I've Failed as a Housewife").
In three hours, little got done, despite my bribes, cajoles, threats. After they all went to bed, and I downed a glass of cabernet, I had two choices:
1) pack all toys in boxes and hide boxes in attic
2) clean it all up myself
What did I choose? Well, after that glass of wine, option #1 seemed like a lot of effort. I'd have to find the packing tape gun, for one thing. And the stairs, two flights, a whole lot of climbing. What I did was tidy up some stuff, bag up some other stuff to hide. After all, if it's too much to clean up, it's too much to have. So I tell them, and sometimes, it's what they believe.
But the kids know me to be a closet sucker. They and I all know that I will return to Cooper his bag of Star Wars Legoes and Mitzi will reclaim her itty-bitty Barbie accessories -- all of which I rescued from Teresa's vacuum cleaner, with no thanks -- and next time we won't struggle so much to put it away. Because they will remember that tonight, after a day of Mean, I was Nice. And, really, my kids are good, they do their best, and deserve a second chance.
Everyone went to bed early tonight, a consequence of their day of poor listening, faulty toy cleaning, general naughty behavior, and my inability to diplomatically deal with the quartet. Six-forty-five, all tucked in. No regrets for me.
I have been, and will continue to be, a Mean Mommy. But tonight, this supposedly Mean Mommy rules a quiet and somewhat tidy house. And for these 185 minutes of peace and sanity, I'm okay with the label of Mean, not Nice. Tomorrow is another day. And if not tomorrow, some day down the road.
After all, I really like my mom now. And if my adolescent memory serves me correctly, she was the quintessential Mean Mommy.
Just ask my siblings if you don't believe me.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Going West
Denial. Not just a river in Egypt.
Okay, the oldest joke in the world. But I've been swimming in denial for a few months now, and am just feeling ready to talk about it, because it's really going to happen.
Michelle is really leaving.
Michelle is my little sister, the baby of the family. (She hates to be called that, but to me, oftentimes, that's what she is.) At the same time, for most of my life she's been my best friend, strongest supporter, fiercest defender, disher of tough love. She has an amazingly gentle heart and incredibly strong shoulders. I hope I've been somewhat the same for her.
Next week she's leaving the East to embark on a journey West, to the land of big skies, of wide open spaces, where she'll work on a ranch for six months, leaving behind the fast-paced world of corporate America, Blackberries, deadlines and cafeterias (but thankfully not her blog, email or cell phone, come on now.) This position been a dream of hers for years now. The move is a courageous, joyous one, not lightly made or softly planned.
I couldn't be more thrilled for her. Really. And since we live so far apart now, it's not like we're ending our weekly lunches or daily workouts together. Live the dream. It's not about me. Go for it. All that stuff. I know there's nothing to be upset about.
But there's something sad about the change. What if she won't be able to chat on the phone 95 times a day like we do now? Or email at the drop of a hat? What if the kids want to call her and leave a song message on her voice mail?
She says it's only for six months. "Imagine I'm going to college," she says. "The time will fly by."
Sure. But when she went to college I was gone too, and we were too young to be sad at goodbyes.
The kids, particularly Mitzi, grow teary at the thought of Shelley far away. In comforting them, I remind myself of things:
Look at your auntie. She is brave. She is taking a chance to fulfill a dream, risking a comfortable and certain present for an unknown future. And, kids, make sure you ask her how alive it makes her feel to do that. Ask her if colors seem brighter, the wind a little sweeter.
And always remember, my babies, I might think to say, remember that the unexamined life is not worth living. You only get one go-around. Make it count.
No matter where you go, you can always come home.
Michelle, you too.
Okay, the oldest joke in the world. But I've been swimming in denial for a few months now, and am just feeling ready to talk about it, because it's really going to happen.
Michelle is really leaving.
Michelle is my little sister, the baby of the family. (She hates to be called that, but to me, oftentimes, that's what she is.) At the same time, for most of my life she's been my best friend, strongest supporter, fiercest defender, disher of tough love. She has an amazingly gentle heart and incredibly strong shoulders. I hope I've been somewhat the same for her.
Next week she's leaving the East to embark on a journey West, to the land of big skies, of wide open spaces, where she'll work on a ranch for six months, leaving behind the fast-paced world of corporate America, Blackberries, deadlines and cafeterias (but thankfully not her blog, email or cell phone, come on now.) This position been a dream of hers for years now. The move is a courageous, joyous one, not lightly made or softly planned.
I couldn't be more thrilled for her. Really. And since we live so far apart now, it's not like we're ending our weekly lunches or daily workouts together. Live the dream. It's not about me. Go for it. All that stuff. I know there's nothing to be upset about.
But there's something sad about the change. What if she won't be able to chat on the phone 95 times a day like we do now? Or email at the drop of a hat? What if the kids want to call her and leave a song message on her voice mail?
She says it's only for six months. "Imagine I'm going to college," she says. "The time will fly by."
Sure. But when she went to college I was gone too, and we were too young to be sad at goodbyes.
The kids, particularly Mitzi, grow teary at the thought of Shelley far away. In comforting them, I remind myself of things:
Look at your auntie. She is brave. She is taking a chance to fulfill a dream, risking a comfortable and certain present for an unknown future. And, kids, make sure you ask her how alive it makes her feel to do that. Ask her if colors seem brighter, the wind a little sweeter.
And always remember, my babies, I might think to say, remember that the unexamined life is not worth living. You only get one go-around. Make it count.
No matter where you go, you can always come home.
Michelle, you too.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Tips from Parenting Magazine
In their April issue, Parenting magazine offered these bits of information about kids' health. I found each one so interesting, I had to post them:
Honey may reduce your child's nighttime cough. Good news, since, alas, no meds are recommended for the under six age group. Give 1/2 tsp. for kids 1 to 5; for those 6 and up, 1 tsp. Don't put in tea as this could dilute its effect.
Achoo Syndrome affects about 10 to 25 percent of the population. That's when bright light causes a person to sneeze. Experts have no explanation. Funny, I thought it was just me!
Shopping carts are germier than public toilets. I will no longer silently mock those smart moms who have those soft inserts to put over the basket where baby sits. You ARE better than I.
You can use breast milk on a minor cut, since milk has natural antibiotics that fight infection. Dab some on, air dry the cut, bandage it up. Apparantly the stuff is also good for baby acne, diaper rash, cradle cap and mild eczema. Who knew.
For more super-intelligent advice, check out www.parenting.com.
Honey may reduce your child's nighttime cough. Good news, since, alas, no meds are recommended for the under six age group. Give 1/2 tsp. for kids 1 to 5; for those 6 and up, 1 tsp. Don't put in tea as this could dilute its effect.
Achoo Syndrome affects about 10 to 25 percent of the population. That's when bright light causes a person to sneeze. Experts have no explanation. Funny, I thought it was just me!
Shopping carts are germier than public toilets. I will no longer silently mock those smart moms who have those soft inserts to put over the basket where baby sits. You ARE better than I.
You can use breast milk on a minor cut, since milk has natural antibiotics that fight infection. Dab some on, air dry the cut, bandage it up. Apparantly the stuff is also good for baby acne, diaper rash, cradle cap and mild eczema. Who knew.
For more super-intelligent advice, check out www.parenting.com.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Hooray, Cooper!
Here's another reason to brag. Cooper received his trophy for reading 1,000 books!
The ceremony takes place at the elementary school morning meeting, so he got up in front of the entire student body, faculty, parents and other visitors. He shook the principal's hand and even smiled a little. The fact that he did this at only five years old is incredible. We are all very proud of our bookworm!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Movie Review
In what I think was a very impressive act of bravery, Ray and I took all four kids to see Horton Hears a Who this afternoon. We even shared popcorn and lemonade amongst the six of us. And the review?
The movie was very cute. It was a likable interpretation of Dr. Seuss, as opposed to the bizarre and somewhat frightening versions of The Grinch and The Cat in the Hat. Jim Carrey and Steve Carrell both delivered, predictably, strong comedic interpretations of Horton and the Mayor of Whoville. As usual, jokes for grownups peppered the script. It was quite a stretch, as far as plot, but I guess it's not easy turning a 20 page picture book into an 83-minute feature film.
My children loved it, especially Mitzi and Cooper, who were more able to follow the plot and slapstick than were the little girls. Ellie kept to her seat very well overall, and seemed to understand most of the action and dialogue. Joanna wandered between Ray and I, on either end of our group, and eventually fell asleep on Ray's lap. From a not-quite-two-year-old, that is perfect behavior.
I don't want to reveal how long it's been since Ray and I have been to the movies (my last film was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix), but we were appalled at how much the matinee cost for us. Ouch.
So, thumbs up from our house. Our first movie outing as a family. Victory!
The movie was very cute. It was a likable interpretation of Dr. Seuss, as opposed to the bizarre and somewhat frightening versions of The Grinch and The Cat in the Hat. Jim Carrey and Steve Carrell both delivered, predictably, strong comedic interpretations of Horton and the Mayor of Whoville. As usual, jokes for grownups peppered the script. It was quite a stretch, as far as plot, but I guess it's not easy turning a 20 page picture book into an 83-minute feature film.
My children loved it, especially Mitzi and Cooper, who were more able to follow the plot and slapstick than were the little girls. Ellie kept to her seat very well overall, and seemed to understand most of the action and dialogue. Joanna wandered between Ray and I, on either end of our group, and eventually fell asleep on Ray's lap. From a not-quite-two-year-old, that is perfect behavior.
I don't want to reveal how long it's been since Ray and I have been to the movies (my last film was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix), but we were appalled at how much the matinee cost for us. Ouch.
So, thumbs up from our house. Our first movie outing as a family. Victory!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Solitude
Everyone else in the house is asleep. Well, Ray, the latest victim of our house-wide cold epidemic, might be awake due to his fitful coughing. But it's quiet. Other than the taps I make on the keyboard, the only sound I only hear is the distant rumbling of our dishwasher, and the occasional cough or sneeze from one recovering child or another.
It is silent, the heartbeat kind. I don't feel alone, or lonely. What I feel is energy in the peace of solitude.
I love being awake, active, while the rest of the house slumbers. Early or late, I like the stillness, the possibility of peace. Unfortunately, now that I'm not smoking, I don't find myself up early or up late as much as before. I don't know if it was the need for nicotine that roused me by six each morning, or just the habit that got me going, but these days I linger in bed until Ray reminds me that he actually has to go to work so I have to get up, please. It's the same at the other end. I no longer need to stay awake for that last smoke, so I can get to bed and read before another vain attempt at 8 hours of rest.
But on nights like tonight, I remember what I also loved about early rising, late retiring. It's the peace. The sense that all is right, while the kids are asleep, my husband dozes in our bed while listening to the news or ESPN. Uninterrupted, I can write or indulge in a full hour of yoga or answer emails or watch ridiculous mind-sucking television of my choosing (VH-1's 80s countdowns and the Lifetime Channel come to mind). I can have a cup of coffee or tea and watch the news, flip through catalogues. Being alone in a houseful of people is one fine feeling.
It's ironic that if I had this quiet all the time I would feel oppressed, depressed. Often I long for this ear-numbing stillness. Seventeen times during each chaotic day I fantasize about being by myself for days on end, with a white-sand beach endless before me, a stack of books and a week of sunny skies, a fantasy of being left alone, for god's sake.
And yet, as I confided to my CVS pharmacist this evening, when it is quiet, when the kids are out with Ray or it's late or I'm actually out in the world, on my own, I feel restless. It's disquieting. I am not myself. I feel like I left a limb behind. I eventually shake the feeling, during the course of my Me Time, but the truth is, early rising, late retiring, the solitude of my quiet house, is often all I need to balance my spirit. I don't have to leave my parenting behind to find peace.
So I can't escape my Momminess. But a beach vacation is on the top of my to-do list. Some day. Until then I'll have to pay more attention to my alarm clock when it faithfully buzzes at six a.m., and hope that my life continues to be more alluring than nicotine.
It is silent, the heartbeat kind. I don't feel alone, or lonely. What I feel is energy in the peace of solitude.
I love being awake, active, while the rest of the house slumbers. Early or late, I like the stillness, the possibility of peace. Unfortunately, now that I'm not smoking, I don't find myself up early or up late as much as before. I don't know if it was the need for nicotine that roused me by six each morning, or just the habit that got me going, but these days I linger in bed until Ray reminds me that he actually has to go to work so I have to get up, please. It's the same at the other end. I no longer need to stay awake for that last smoke, so I can get to bed and read before another vain attempt at 8 hours of rest.
But on nights like tonight, I remember what I also loved about early rising, late retiring. It's the peace. The sense that all is right, while the kids are asleep, my husband dozes in our bed while listening to the news or ESPN. Uninterrupted, I can write or indulge in a full hour of yoga or answer emails or watch ridiculous mind-sucking television of my choosing (VH-1's 80s countdowns and the Lifetime Channel come to mind). I can have a cup of coffee or tea and watch the news, flip through catalogues. Being alone in a houseful of people is one fine feeling.
It's ironic that if I had this quiet all the time I would feel oppressed, depressed. Often I long for this ear-numbing stillness. Seventeen times during each chaotic day I fantasize about being by myself for days on end, with a white-sand beach endless before me, a stack of books and a week of sunny skies, a fantasy of being left alone, for god's sake.
And yet, as I confided to my CVS pharmacist this evening, when it is quiet, when the kids are out with Ray or it's late or I'm actually out in the world, on my own, I feel restless. It's disquieting. I am not myself. I feel like I left a limb behind. I eventually shake the feeling, during the course of my Me Time, but the truth is, early rising, late retiring, the solitude of my quiet house, is often all I need to balance my spirit. I don't have to leave my parenting behind to find peace.
So I can't escape my Momminess. But a beach vacation is on the top of my to-do list. Some day. Until then I'll have to pay more attention to my alarm clock when it faithfully buzzes at six a.m., and hope that my life continues to be more alluring than nicotine.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Hooray!!
Let me take a moment to brag about my oldest's latest accomplishment! Mitzi and Cooper have both been participating in the elementary school's "1000 Book Club" program. It challenges preschoolers and kindergarteners to read -- or listen to -- one thousand books before first grade, the number of books one must hear in order to read independently. The program lets the kids borrow bags with 10 books in each, one bag at a time, until they finish the program. The kids are awarded prizes along the way for 25, 50, 75 and 100 bags.
Today, Mitzi officially finished, and received the final prize, this wonderful trophy. One thousand books. In just over one year. And she is just six years old. I'm very swollen with pride!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
